


Damen's Bakery Injury

by Josselin



Series: Laurent Is a Girl [12]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Background consensual sibling incest, Dirty Talk, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Laurent is a girl, M/M, Sarcastic discussion of consent, Sibling Incest, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-11-23 01:36:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18145034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josselin/pseuds/Josselin
Summary: Damen didn’t remember exactly what had happened during the accident, and from what they were telling him at the hospital, that was normal.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was part of a negotiation with Kittendiamore so that everyone gets more fic!

Damen didn’t remember exactly what had happened during the accident, and from what they were telling him at the hospital, that was normal. Damen remembered frosting an order of cupcakes that had come in last minute earlier that morning, and thinking he should check on the sconces that were baking.

Then his memory sort of jumped to being in a bed in the emergency department of the local hospital. His hands were covered with gauze bandages and he couldn’t move them. They didn’t hurt, though. Nothing hurt.

“Your coworker Pallas told us there was an accident at the bakery,” one of the nurses told Damen. She was adjusting something on an IV stand next to his bed. There a lot of machines in his room, Damen observed. Some of them were beeping.

“I have to finish the cupcakes,” Damen said.

“I’m sure your coworkers will handle it,” said the nurse. “You should just rest. Your husband is on his way.”

“He’s traveling for work,” said Damen, trying to remember where Auguste had gone this week. “He won’t want to bother.”

The nurse frowned. “He seemed very worried about you when we called, and said he would be here in an hour.”

Damen sighed. “But I should really finish the cupcakes--”

“Are you in any pain?” said the nurse.

He kind of zoned out, or dozed, and when he became more alert a bit later, a new woman was in his room. She was professionally dressed, rather than in scrubs, but she was still wearing a hospital name badge around her neck. 

She mangled his full name, looking at a clipboard.

“Damen,” he said. 

“Damen,” she said gratefully. “How are you feeling?”

“Sleepy,” Damen said, though that wasn’t quite right. He couldn’t think of the word that would best describe how he was feeling. 

“If you feel up to it, I’d like to have a conversation with you.”

Damen looked at her. “Okay.”

She introduced herself. “I’m Jane. I work here at St. Luke’s in the family and domestic counseling center.”

“Hi.”

“I’d like to talk about your injuries.”

Damen looked at his hands, which were still covered in gauze. “Are they terrible?” he said. Something awful occurred to him. “I still have hands, right?” The bandages weren’t some terrible joke to fool him.

Jane looked alarmed, and then down at her clipboard. “You’re just burned, I think.” But it led to a minor distraction, because Jane went to go find one of Damen’s nurses, who came in and assured him that he definitely still had hands, they were just burned and slathered with burn treatments and he should try not to move them too much while his skin was healing. 

Damen promised that he would try not to, and then the nurse left, and Jane was still sitting next to his bedside. Damen focused on her slowly.

“Damen, one of my specialties in my work in the counseling center is working with men and women who have experienced domestic abuse,” Jane said.

Damen nodded. 

“Sometimes people have an impression of domestic abuse from what they see on television or hear about that isn’t true. They might think that abuse always looks the same, but really it can take many very different forms: verbal abuse, physical abuse, manipulation, sexual abuse--”

She kept talking, but Damen stopped hearing her, frozen with a terrible thought. Did she know, about Laurent?

How would she know? Laurent wasn’t even around. Laurent was off at college. Was it even abuse once Laurent had become an adult? And how would this woman know about it in any case?

But then, why was she talking about all of this? 

Damen looked at her again. She was watching his face very closely. “You might think that domestic abuse couldn’t happen to you,” she said. “Or you might feel very ashamed.”

She had to know. Damen did feel ashamed; he had no idea how he had ever gotten involved with Laurent except that he loved her so desperately he couldn’t imagine it another way. 

“I was in love,” he burst out.

Jane nodded understandingly. “Yes, of course,” she agreed. “Your feelings were probably very complex.”

Damen nodded, feeling morose.

Jane continued. “Men sometimes think they can’t be the victim of abuse, but it doesn’t matter how physically strong you are.” 

That didn’t really make sense, but Damen was lost in thought. What should he do? Auguste would probably have a plan for this. Why wasn’t Auguste here?

“Where’s my husband?” Damen said. “Is he coming?”

Jane frowned. “He’s on his way to the hospital. But Damen, this is a safe place. You don’t have to see him if you don’t want to.”

“I want to see him,” Damen insisted.

Jane made a considering noise. “Damen, I’d like to talk about your other injuries.”

Damen frowned. “I have other injuries?” This was just getting worse and worse. She knew about Laurent and he had other injuries he didn’t even know about yet. He could only see the bandages on his hands and that was all the nurse had mentioned. 

“On your back?” said Jane.

“My back is injured?” said Damen. He craned his head to try to see his back, but it didn’t work. “What happened to my back?”

“I was hoping you might tell me,” said Jane. “You have welts on your back that look several days old.”

Damen craned his neck the other direction, but he still couldn’t see anything. “How did the oven explosion do that?”

“From before the oven explosion,” Jane said. “Did you hurt yourself last week?

Damen stopped trying to look and stared at her. He still felt sleepy, somehow, or fuzzy, almost. “Last week?”

“Maybe you were struck with something?” said Jane. “Your doctor thought the bruising might be from a whip?”

Realization dawned on Damen. “Oh,” he said, relieved that there wasn’t some new mysterious injury on his back he didn’t know about. “Yes.”

“Can you tell me about that?”

“Auguste hit me last weekend.” Jane looked a bit taken aback.

“Auguste is your husband?”

Damen nodded, feeling that they were on much safer ground. He didn’t have more mystery injuries and at least this had nothing to do with Laurent.

“Does that happen a lot, Damen?” said Jane.

Damen considered. “Well, more recently, he’s been kind of into it.”

“Do you want to talk about that?”

“No,” Damen said. “It’s kind of private.”

“I can definitely understand why you would feel that way,” Jane said. “But if you’re willing to confide in me, I can help you.”

Damen wasn’t sure what that meant, and he eyed Jane suspiciously, still wondering if she was going to try to get him to talk about Laurent again.

Jane talked a bit more. “Are you worried that your husband will be upset about the accident at the bakery?”

Damen considered. Auguste probably would be upset, because, if nothing else, he’d had to interrupt his work day and come deal with Damen being in the hospital. And when Damen could tell him that they knew, about Laurent, then Auguste was going to be very upset, definitely. But he was starting to feel like maybe he didn’t want to talk to Jane about any of that.

“I don’t know,” Damen said. “When is he going to be here?”

“Are you nervous about his arrival?” said Jane. “That’s natural if he’s been abusing you and you haven’t been able to seek help before.”

If he’s been--

“Oh!” Damen said, straightening in the bed and trying not to move his hands. “You think Auguste is abusing me!”

Jane sat up also. “You told me that he did, Damen--”

Damen shook his head vigorously. “No, no, no.”

“Your back--”

“It was a sex thing,” said Damen. A sex thing that only involved his husband and definitely no discussion of his husband’s sister.

Jane seemed skeptical. “You’re saying it was consensual?”

That was the right word, yes. Damen nodded. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“Your husband never hits you if you don’t consent?”

“No,” Damen said, trying not to think about Laurent. “I mean. Yes. Well, maybe. Wait, what was the question?”

Jane repeated the question. 

Damen tried to explain. “Well,” he started. “Auguste was watching some porn, and then he had me watching it, and he was clearly into it, and at first I was less into it, but it was interesting, and I didn’t want him to try it on--” no, that was a bad direction “--so, I thought I should try it. Because he’s my husband and we are allowed to have sex, it’s kind of the point of him being my husband.”

Jane continued to look skeptical.

“So we tried it, and then I don’t think he was into it at first, but I was starting to like it, so I was like ‘No, keep going,’--”

“Did your husband keep going after you said no?” said Jane.

“No,” said Damen. “I mean, I told him to keep going and not to stop.”

“Do you ever feel like you struggle to communicate your needs during sex?” said Jane.

“The point is,” Damen emphasized, “that I liked it, and I liked how he looked at me afterward, and then we made out a lot, and that’s how it started.”

“You’ve done this repeatedly?” said Jane.

Damen nodded. “Because we like it.”

“Is this always your husband's idea? Or do you ever suggest it?”

Damen considered this for a moment. “Do you think he would like it if I suggested it? That could be hot--”

Jane opened her mouth to say something, but before she could interrupt Damen, the door opened.

There was some kind of commotion in the hallway that burst into the room. It was Auguste, arguing with two of the nurses about how he insisted on seeing his husband, “Right now--Damen!”

Auguste was dressed for work in a suit with his hair neatly pulled back, though he wasn’t wearing his suit jacket and his tie was a little crooked. 

“Auguste!” Damen said.

“Are you all right?” said Auguste. “What happened--Pallas called, and the hospital--”

“I have an idea!” Damen interrupted him.

Auguste frowned. 

“It’s a sex idea!” Damen explained.

Auguste glanced over at Jane, like he was trying to figure out who she was, then back at Damen. “Are you--high?”

“We were talking about having sex,” Damen explained.

Auguste shot another look at Jane, suspiciously. Jane glared back at him. 

Damen tried to explain the conversation that he’d been having with Jane about the whipping. He kept getting confused and then trying to explain better, and Auguste kept glancing at him and then glaring at Jane and looking more and more confused. 

As Damen got to the whipping part, Auguste was blushing a little. “Damen--”

Damen realized he should be making a point to Jane. “Auguste,” he said. “I like all the sex that we have.”

Auguste glanced over at Jane again. 

“All of it,” Damen continued forcefully. “I really like it. Always. We never have bad sex. And we are married.”

“Let’s talk about this later when you’re on less drugs,” said Auguste.

Damen was willing to let Auguste take charge of the situation. Auguste started asking Jane questions about Damen’s burns, which Jane couldn’t answer. Auguste visibly started to lose patience, “Aren’t you his doctor? Why are you here, anyway?”

Jane didn’t look like she wanted to leave the two of them alone together.

“Where’s Damen’s doctor? What medications is he on? I want to talk to--” Auguste continued.

“Auguste,” Damen said, trying to whisper. “She thinks you’re abusing me.”

Jane was watching him pretty closely. The whisper might have been louder than he thought.

“What?” said Auguste. He looked over at Jane again. “What’s going on?”

Jane began, “I work here at St. Luke’s in the family and domestic counseling center.”

“Why are you here?” said Auguste.

“I was discussing Damen’s injuries with him--”

“I’d like you to leave,” Auguste said. “I want to talk to Damen’s doctor.”

“It’s not up to you if I leave,” Jane said. “It’s up to Damen if he wants to be alone with you.”

Auguste turned toward Damen. “Damen, do you want Jane to stay?”

Jane had asked him confusing questions about Laurent. Damen did not want her to stay. “No,” he said.

“Damen,” Jane said. “Remember what we talked about.” 

Auguste had opened the door to Damen’s room and was holding it open pointedly for Jane while he flagged down a passing nurse like a cab on the street, asking a question. Jane left.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was part of a negotiation for more fic with [stillwaterseas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixflight/pseuds/stillwaterseas)! I look forward to more escort!Damen from the other side of the negotiation hahahahah.

Jane remained suspicious. She tried to talk to Damen again, when the pain medication had faded and the throbbing in his hands was more distracting, and she stopped by to watch him and Auguste together sometimes, since Auguste stayed at the hospital for the next day and a half or so before he was released.

Damen was released at that point primarily because Auguste seemed to argue his doctor into it, insisting that whatever kind of treatment Damen continued to need Auguste could arrange for him to have it in their home.

It was a relief to leave the hospital, where there were constantly other people fussing. Damen couldn’t do anything by himself, since his hands were bandaged, so he had to let one of the nurses or Auguste feed him spoonfuls of food, and help him when he needed to get up to go to the bathroom. 

It was the same at home, but it felt better, to be in the quiet of their house and and to lie down in his own bed. Auguste sat down next to him, thumbing at his phone. 

“I should call Laurent,” Auguste said.

“Don’t tell her,” Damen said.

Auguste looked at him. “She’ll be worried. She’ll want to see you.”

“That’s why you shouldn’t tell her,” Damen insisted. “She has finals. I’m fine. I don’t want her to be distracted.”

Auguste looked reluctant.

“Auguste,” Damen said, letting his voice plead a little. “We’ll tell her later.”

Auguste called her, stretching out next to Damen on the bed so that Damen could listen to their conversation. 

“Hi honey,” Auguste said.

Laurent greeted him brightly, asking about his most recent trip, and was he back early? Did it go well? How was Damen?

“The trip was fine,” said Auguste, not mentioning that he’d left early because Damen had been in the hospital. “Damen’s here, did you want to talk to him?”

“Hi Damen!” Laurent said, but she chattered happily to Auguste further about something ridiculous her professor had said and the flight that she was planning to take back for her break before he let her get back to studying. 

Auguste ended the call on his phone.

“Thanks,” Damen said. 

The next morning, Damen slept in. He awoke to find Auguste sleeping in also, next to him in the bed.

Damen groaned, because the painkillers he’d taken before going to sleep had worn off, and his hands felt terrible, and also he desperately needed to piss. 

Auguste woke up, sitting up and blinking next to him. Auguste seemed to always awake quickly and smoothly. He didn’t have to claw himself out of a dream or want to bury himself under the covers the way Damen often wanted. He just opened his eyes and went from sleep to the same watchful cautious awakeness he always had, all at once. “You need a pill,” Auguste said, taking in Damen’s condition quickly, and he reached over to the bedside to twist open the bottle.

Taking a pill was complicated. Damen had to sit up, and then Auguste raised a water bottle to his mouth, and then Auguste had to put the pill on his tongue, and Damen had to swallow it, and then Auguste offered him more of the water. 

Damen glanced at the clock. “You’re going to be late to work,” he said.

Auguste raised an eyebrow. “I’m not going in today.”

“Why not?”

Auguste looked amused. “My husband is terribly injured and needs care.”

“I’m fine,” Damen insisted.

“Sure,” Auguste said. “You could probably open this bottle and take a pill yourself,” he said, tossing the bottle onto Damen’s lap.

Damen batted at it helplessly with one hand, which was bandaged as though he were wearing a boxing glove. 

“You could just leave a pill out for me,” Damen said. 

“Mm hmm,” said Auguste, and he got out of bed and wandered into the bathroom. Damen could hear him peeing, which reminded him of his own desperate need. 

He followed Auguste into the bathroom, where he confronted the same problem with his bandaged hands as he’d had with the pill bottle. The seat and the cover were down, even though Auguste had just used it and there were only the two of them around and Laurent wasn’t even home to complain.

Auguste was washing his hands, of course, and watching Damen with mild amusement. 

“Will you lift the seat up?” Damen said, finally. 

Auguste came over and agreeably lifted the seat cover. Then he just stood next to Damen, rather than going off to wash his hands again, which was what Damen expected.

“What?” Damen said.

“Don’t you need more help?” said August, nodding at his hands. 

“Oh,” Damen said, looking down at his bandages again. “Yes?”

Auguste agreeably came to stand behind him. 

Auguste’s hands were damp, from washing them, and he could feel Auguste’s body warm behind him. They were both shirtless. Damen shifted slightly, leaning back against Auguste. Auguste shuffled closer.

Auguste’s hand slid into his sleep pants, rearranging them on Damen’s hips and freeing his cock.

“You’re holding it wrong,” Damen objected. The grip felt off.

“Wrong?” Auguste said, sounding offended. “This is the best way to do it.”

The bickered, but Damen really had to go, and also he was tired even though he’d just woken up, and so after he finished he left Auguste to put the seat cover back down again and wash his hands a few more times and wandered back to bed. 

Damen couldn’t shower, so later, Auguste helped give him a bath with Damen’s hands safely wrapped in plastic bags and resting outside the tub. Auguste washed Damen with the quiet intent concentration he usually applied to shaving Laurent. After Auguste had been nice to him all day, Damen asked for Auguste’s help before he even went into the bathroom. If Auguste refused to help him, then it would serve Auguste right if he made a mess, after all.

Auguste followed him agreeably into the bathroom. He even agreed to use the grip Damen preferred. But then, as they were standing there, Damen started to feel turned on.

He couldn’t help it. Both of them were still bare chested and he was leaning a little bit back against Auguste and Auguste’s arms were around him. 

It took Auguste a minute to realize why Damen was being slow.

He leaned in to Damen’s neck. “Really?”

“Just give me a second,” Damen said.

“What would Jane say about this?” said Auguste, with the tone of voice he often used to start a stream of dirty talk aimed at Laurent.

“I can’t help it,” Damen objected. 

Auguste laughed at him gently and maneuvered him around in the bathroom until Damen was standing in front of the bench instead of the toilet, which made no sense to Damen until Auguste sat down on the bench and his mouth was at the same level as Damen’s slowly hardening cock.

Damen took in an excited breath.

Auguste leaned in--

“Auguste, can you--” Damen started. He wanted to touch Auguste’s head but his hands were still covered in gauze and he couldn’t. 

Auguste was often impatient with feedback or requests regarding oral sex, which meant that Damen’s usual strategy was to keep his mouth shut and just appreciate it. But he really wanted--“Can you take your hair down?”

Auguste was also vain, and especially so about his own hair, so he seemed to approve of this request, and pulled a tie out of his hair. His hair fell out of the bun holding it back and onto his shoulders in messy waves. He shook his hand through it a bit, smoothing it. Then he raised an eyebrow at Damen.

“Thank you,” Damen said, hoping he hadn’t annoyed Auguste too much from his original intention, and fortunately he hadn’t. 

Auguste seemed to treat performing oral sex as a scientific experiment on how quickly he could get Damen off. He talked about it this way, too, rating techniques with that in mind. He would say things like, “Did you like that?”

And if Damen said, “Yes, it feels amazing,” Auguste would press for more details, “But does it make you come?”

This all probably revealed something about how Auguste thought about sex but Damen wasn’t the type to overanalyze. His favorite part of Auguste going down on him was that it kept Auguste from talking while they were having sex. 

Damen hovered his bandaged hands in the air and tried to keep from reflexively touching Auguste. Auguste had one hand on Damen’s hip and one hand on his cock and was using practiced motions that were exactly what Damen liked. He liked looking at Auguste while he blew Damen. Auguste was so hot. He was exactly Damen’s type, with the hair, and the body.

“I’m so lucky,” Damen said mindlessly, endlessly impressed that the hottest guy he’d ever met was blowing him.

It was always bad when Damen tried to talk during sex. Auguste actually pulled off to talk back to him. 

Auguste’s expression was incredulous. “You were just blown up in a freak oven accident.”

“Oh my god, please keep going,” Damen said.

“You’re so unlucky I’m suing the oven manufacturer,” Auguste continued. 

“I take it back,” Damen begged. “Please finish.”

Auguste looked skeptical, like maybe he wanted to continue arguing. Damen stared at how wet his lips were and tried to look pleading. 

Auguste got Damen off with the ever-reliable technique of sliding a finger into him and exerting pressure on his prostate.

After, Damen sat down on the bench to catch his breath and Auguste went to wash his hands. Of course. Auguste had some kind of complicated hand washing routine that took a long time, but Damen had learned better than to try to interrupt it, and he just waited, admiring the messy way Auguste’s hair was still spread out on his shoulders.

“You’re so hot,” Damen told him.

Auguste rolled his eyes. “You’re just saying that because you still need me to help you piss, come on, stand up.”

That wasn’t the reason, but Damen stood up agreeably. 

He felt a bit desperate. He had waited longer than usual because he had felt shy about asking Auguste to assist him, and then he’d waited longer because of the blowjob, which had been amazing, but it left him even more needing release. 

He managed to relax into Auguste’s grip and go, and it felt good. He made a small noise.

He wouldn’t have even thought about the noise, except that Auguste made an echoing curious noise behind him, pressed against his back. 

Damen felt embarrassed.

By the third day, Damen felt much better, which actually caused more problems, because he kept trying to do things, which then were interrupted either by Damen’s yelps of pain when he accidentally touched something with his hands or by Auguste’s reprimands when he caught Damen doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

Mainly what Damen was supposed to do was watch television or sleep. He’d watched a gazillion cooking shows over the last few days, which always made him antsy to get into the kitchen with his own variations of the recipe.

Damen had thought maybe he could cook something easy if he wore oven mitts over the bandages, which meant that when Auguste decided to handcuff Damen to the bed for his own protection, he still had the oven mitts on. 

“I’m going to tell the hospital counselor about this,” Damen threatened. 

“This is for your own good,” Auguste said. “I’ll tell Jane that you thought ‘resting your hands’ included baking a pie.”

“At least use the fuzzy handcuffs,” Damen said. Auguste grumbled but dug them out of the toy box.

Of course, that was when the doorman buzzed their apartment. Auguste left Damen in the bedroom to find his phone and see who it was.

Damen stared at the ceiling. “Auguste?”

Then Damen could hear Auguste and Nikandros talking at the door. 

Nikandros had never liked Auguste. Auguste responded by being unfailingly polite, which Damen had learned over the years was actually how Auguste showed he didn’t like someone either. This meant that at the front door, there was an extremely terse, polite exchange.

“I heard about Damen’s accident from Pallas--is he okay?”

“Yes, thank you for asking. He’s recovering,” said Auguste. 

There was a long pause. 

“Can I see him?” Nikandros asked, probably suspicious that Auguste had murdered Damen and hidden the body or something.

Damen didn’t feel like he was at his best for receiving visitors, wearing only his sleep pants, oven mitts with pie filling on them, and the handcuffs. The fuzzy handcuffs weren’t hard to get out of--if your hands were uninjured and you weren’t wearing oven mitts. Damen couldn’t manage it.

Auguste was still being polite in the front hall. “I’m not sure if he’s feeling up to visitors.”

“I texted him,” Nikandros said. “He didn’t message me back.”

“He can’t use his hands,” Auguste said, with a tone that expressed how stupid he thought Nikandros was being. 

“Damen?” Nikandros called, in a louder voice. 

Auguste raised his voice also. “Your friend thinks I’ve murdered you or something. Say something so he knows you’re alive.”

“I’m not murdered!” Damen shouted.

“Are you okay?” Nikandros said. Damen could hear footsteps. 

“I’m fine,” he shouted. “I’m great! You don’t need to--”

More footsteps. Nikandros appeared in the doorway.

Nikandros looked simultaneously appalled and completely unsurprised. Damen felt sheepish. Auguste appeared in the bedroom doorway behind Nikandros, looking irritated.

“You got blown up a few days ago and you’re already doing kinky sex things,” Nikandros said.

“Why is everyone so obsessed with my sex life?” Damen said.

“You’re tied to the bed,” Nikandros said. 

“This is for medical reasons,” Damen insisted. 

Auguste piped up from behind Nikandros. “Damen also likes being tied up for sex reas--” 

“Shut up, Auguste!” Damen said. Nikandros cast a glare at Auguste.

Nikandros seemed to resolutely decide to ignore how weird the two of them were. “How are your hands? Are you in a lot of pain?”

“It’s okay,” Damen said. 

Nikandros was examining his oven mitts. “Uh, you seem to be oozing something purple.” 

“That’s pie filling,” Damen said.

Auguste came over to inspect the oozing, and then gently took the oven mitt off of the top of Damen’s bandaged hands and stalked out of the bedroom with it, probably to go slather it in some kind of stain remover or something.

Nikandros looked like he was trying to figure out, in his head, whether pie filling had a sexual purpose, and also trying very hard not to think about it.

“I tried to bake a pie but I’m supposed to rest so Auguste said this would help me remember not to use my hands,” Damen said. 

Auguste had also said, once Damen was in position on the bed, that it was a convenient position for Auguste to feed Damen his cock. Then he had questioned, with a particular tone, what Damen had thought Jane would think about that. Damen wasn’t going to mention that.

“What does the doctor say?” said Nikandros. “Shouldn’t you still be in the hospital?”

“It’s much better at home,” said Damen. “I have to keep putting this lotion stuff on my hands and then I have to go to physical therapy so that the skin grows right, or something, but they think it will be okay.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Nikandros said. “Do you need any help?”

Damen shook his head. “Auguste is taking care of me.”

Nikandros eyed the fuzzy handcuffs. “Doesn’t he have to go to work?”

“He’s taking off for a bit,” said Damen. 

Nikandros left, satisfied that Damen had survived the bakery accident and Auguste’s subsequent care. Damen declined Nikandros’s offers to untie him from the fuzzy handcuffs, and listened to Auguste being polite at Nikandros in the hallway as he left.

Auguste worked on his laptop in the bedroom near Damen while he rested, and Damen dozed and listened to Auguste talk to Ancel on the phone. Ancel asked after Damen, Damen could hear him through the phone.

“Is he hideously scarred and disfigured now?” said Ancel.

“No,” said Auguste.

“Did the explosion get his face?” said Ancel, as though Auguste hadn’t spoken. “Did it get his cock?”

“It only affected his hands,” Auguste said.

“Are you sure?” said Ancel. “Did they check his cock just to be--”

“I’ve checked!” Auguste said, obviously annoyed, and Ancel changed the subject back to some meeting they had to cancel. 

Damen’s cock had not been affected by the weird oven explosion. His sex life was primarily affected by the problem that he couldn’t touch anything--himself, Auguste, well, or Laurent, except she wasn’t there and Damen still hadn’t told her about his injuries--and he couldn’t put any weight on his hands. It limited the positions they could use, and it meant that Auguste interrupted their sex even more often than usual to check if Damen was trying to touch something he shouldn’t. 

“You said you would keep your hands down,” Auguste scolded. 

“Where did the fuzzy handcuffs go?” Damen asked, resigned.

Auguste was being remarkably tolerant of Damen’s limitations during sex, so it seemed to bother Damen much more than Auguste that his ability to pleasure his partner was so limited. He could suck Auguste off, after a lot of maneuvering into a position where Auguste trusted he wouldn’t use his hands, or they could fuck, as long as Auguste did all of the work involving lube or getting things positioned.

What seemed to Damen to actually have more of an influence on his sex life was Auguste’s fascination with dirty talk all centering around consent. 

Dirty talk wasn’t exactly new. Auguste had talked during sex since when they first started hooking up together, both normal talking and dirty talk. Sometimes he and Laurent could hold an entire normal conversation while they were having sex, which baffled Damen, and then some switch would flip and Auguste’s tone would deepen and he’d tell Laurent how filthy she was, how she had lured Damen into coming inside her and now she was dripping and it was her own fault, and Laurent tended to either object and argue or arch and say something like “Yesssss,” because Auguste’s dirty talk tended to preface him doing something interesting with his hands.

He didn’t tend to talk as much at Damen, though. Damen supposed it was because he was less interesting to talk at. He had trouble paying attention to talk while they were having sex, so he didn’t keep up his end of the dialog or react to the things that Auguste was saying more specifically than responding to the tone of his voice. 

Now, Auguste was demanding his attention.

“Damen! Are you paying attention?”

“Yes,” Damen said obediently, hoping that agreement was the best way to get Auguste to resume blowing him.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Damen had been through this drill before. “I’m very sure.”

“I wouldn’t want to force you,” Auguste said. 

“Keep going,” Damen said.

“You’re so desperate for it I had to tie you up to keep you from touching yourself,” Auguste said.

That wasn’t exactly true, but--

“I want you to tell that hospital counselor about this,” Auguste said.

It wasn’t an inherently sexy thought but Auguste said it like it was, and his fingers were doing very interesting things to Damen’s prostate.

“Okay,” Damen agreed.

“You need to tell her how I got you off, and how good it was,” Auguste continued.

Damen felt like he would finish faster if Auguste resumed using his mouth.

“Do you feel this?”

Auguste crooked two fingers inside of him. Damen flexed his hands reflexively, and then avoided grimacing. “Yes,” he managed.

“You need to mention this specifically, that’s two fingers Damen, getting you off in just the way that you like best--”

Auguste kept talking but Damen lost focus.

But the talk kept returning.

Damen wasn’t shaving--he wasn’t doing anything with his hands. After a week he was still only allowed to use his hands to carefully attempt to slather lotion on the other hands, and he needed Auguste’s help undo the bandages first. Auguste was about to return to work, with an elaborate plan for how Damen was going to manage at home “--and not touch anything!” He had pills set out for Damen, smoothies stocked in the fridge that Damen could eat without using utensils or preparing anything, and he agreed to leave the toilet cover up and the seat down, so Damen could relieve himself while alone, though Auguste looked maybe too intrigued by exactly what that would be like. 

The lack of shaving meant that he had the beginnings of a beard, though. He stared at his face in the mirror. 

“Maybe I should grow a beard,” he told Auguste absently.

Auguste looked horrified.

Damen smiled. “I might look good with a beard! My father has a beard.”

“So does your brother,” said Auguste, as though that were a clear argument against it. Maybe it was. Auguste was already getting out his razor. “Come here.”

Auguste had shaved him before, when he objected that Damen hadn’t done it well enough himself, or when he’d been shaving himself and seemed to find a groove and continued on to lather up Damen’s face next. He tended to Damen with the same careful attention Damen had seen him pay to Laurent, when he shaved her. 

After he finished, Auguste ran his fingers over Damen’s skin, checking for any spots he might have missed, and Damen shivered sensitively. He wanted to kiss Auguste. He wanted Auguste to lean in right now and--

“I should really--” Auguste said, musingly “--shave you down there while you can’t object--”

Damen took a step away. “Auguste!”

Auguste laughed. 

“I don’t want to shave my pubes!” Damen said.

Auguste was still laughing. “That’s fine, I’ll do it.”

“I don’t want you to do it either,” said Damen.

“Are you going to tell that counselor I shaved you without your consent?” said Auguste, but he was already rinsing the razor and drying it and putting it away in the drawer. 

“Yes!” Damen said stubbornly. 

“That I made you all clean and smooth?” said Auguste. “Then I’d have to check my work, with my mouth--”

Damen was picturing it, now. He desperately wanted to kiss Auguste again. “Well--”

Auguste took a step closer. “Make sure I didn’t miss anything--”

“All right--” Damen was agreeing, but then their lips met and the notion of shaving Damen was dropped because Damen reached for Auguste’s bicep and then Auguste was insisting on handcuffing Damen to the bed again.


End file.
